


Chapter Sixty-Six: Under the Flag

by CavalierConvoy



Series: MTMTE Series One: Shoot Straight with a Crooked Gun [67]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One
Genre: Espionage, Gen, Government Conspiracy, Mathematics, Morning After, Other, Quantum Mechanics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 14:09:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4351883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavalierConvoy/pseuds/CavalierConvoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The crews of the <i>Vindication</i>, the <i>Xantium</i>, and the <i>Little Revenge</i> find themselves embroiled deeper into the political coup; while they weigh their options, two friends on the homefront are realising the depths of the oncoming storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chapter Sixty-Six: Under the Flag

Survival leads men to do foolish things  
And yes he was a fool  
He thought he'd try working for the government  
A civil service tool  
  
Now the boy is doing fine, but he'll have to toe the line  
His orders are from high above  
'Cos when you're working for the state you can sell your life to fate  
You're not working anymore for love

 

\--["Under the Flag"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jxb4r8AK0Sk) by Fad Gadget, from  _Under the Flag_

Elite Guard Flagship _Vindication_  
Fifty light years from the Betelgeuse Supernova  
Five Stellar Cycles Ago

"Some mess back home, eh?"

Smokescreen froze at his brother's comment, but said nothing as Bluestreak came up behind him, the silver Autobot's attention on the datapad in his hand.

"So word came in on the subspace that Emirate Xaaron's been stripped of his mantle and the Ethics Committee's been shuffled to Kimia Station," Bluestreak continued; whether or not he picked up on Smokescreen's discomfort was dubious; Blue's attention could be flighty on the best of sols. "I've been trying to contact the gang back home for more info, but no one's answering just yet; likely they're still reeling from the big news of the stel: Elita's been arrested."

"What?" Now Smokescreen stopped in his tracks, staring at his brother's backside. 

Halting as well, Bluestreak turned to face him. "Well, they're not calling it an 'arrest' as more of a 'detained for her protection from enemies of the state.' Also, we're getting reassigned to a new commander."

"A new...what about Jazz?"

Bluestreak shrugged. "Compromised, by my guess. If Xaaron's been defrocked and Elita's de-Primed, then we're all considered a threat to whatever plan they've got going. Which to me smells of Zeta, but you didn't hear that from me because that path leads to anarchy and mutiny. They sent out new marching orders: the Vindication is to return to port and we're to be reevaluated for inspection. If you ask me, they're scared, bro. They want control again, and they're gonna take it the only way they know how. Sure, we were the ones fighting for the freedom from the Decepticons, but now there's this control bit, and really? They never liked Pop Op's style — "

As the silver mech rambled, Smokescreen's thoughts turned inward. He had hesitated. He had deleted the message without reading it. And now he was in the dark.

In hindsight, Smokescreen had cost Jazz an insider.

"Who did you try contacting?" Smokescreen questioned, interrupting his brother.

It was commonplace, and Bluestreak took no offence. "Usual suspects: 'Raj, Teebs, Hoist. Grapple. Let's see. Red and Inferno, though hopefully it was vague enough for Red to not freak but detailed enough for him to suspect the danger — "

"So you pretty much blasted everyone's inbox with 'Hey, what's going on?'" Smokescreen demanded, before pointing a finger at his brother's nose. "No. Don't you dare."

"Yes and no," Bluestreak shrugged. "I just forwarded the AMV you won't let me mutilate with my tone-deaf singing."

"So that if the message was intercepted — "

" — whoever intercepted it would think I was sending old buddies a humorous animated video of He-Man singing Four Non-Blondes. Covert operations utilising otherwise inane Earth memes. It was Jazz's idea. Likely why he tapped me to orchestrate Operation: I Can Haz Cheezburger."

 _Okay. That was...actually smart._ "And you haven't heard back from anyone?"

"Not yet. Then again, if they've got word about Elita and Xaaron, then they're putting two and two together. Besides, Mirage? You know he's always been in tight with Jazz. If anyone has intel, it would be him."

Oh, Blue...so loyal, so trusting. "Does Jazz have a plan?"

Bluestreak shrugged again. "Yeah, to figure out what to do next. We might be teaming up with Springer and co indefinitely, if things keep turning out the way they've been."

Jazz doesn't trust me, Smokescreen brooded. Then why was Blue getting the intel and feeding it back?

Because Jazz was banking on something. Unity was not going to be through the Senate. Inspire a large enough militia, and people start listening. After all, that's how Orion Pax started, in the days against the old Senate's corruption. Jazz was inviting the Stratocracy to attempt retaliating against those who served with Optimus, those loyal to Optimus. Even gone, the archivist-cum-police captain-cum-Prime still had a following, and whether those who followed his ideals as a way of life or a religious mantra, they would rise up and stand against oppression.

The Senate miscalculated Optimus's influence.

The odds...the odds were stacked against them, those now branded dissidents. But the Senate knew; while they could not touch Optimus himself, they had to discredit Optimus's crew, his friends, his allies, his legacy.

Smokescreen played long odds. The safe bet was to stay with the Senate.

But that wasn't where his loyalties truly laid.

The payout was either safe complacency, or....

"I'm going to touch base with Jazz," Smokescreen stated, interrupting his brother, turning towards the officers' wing.

"Hey, Smokey?" 

"Yeah, Blue?" Smokescreen glanced over his shoulder.

Bluestreak grinned, and, in a falsetto, _"'I said hey, hey, hey, yeah — '"_

The blue and gold brother tossed his head with a roll of the optics and continued on his way, Bluestreak in the opposite direction, still singing. 

_Did Blue suspect...?_

 

*

 _Xantium_  
Five hundred light years from Shaula System

_Urgent: rendezvous with team at designated post. Protocol: Bound Sword._

Moonracer read the simple text thrice before comprehending the meaning. _Bound Sword. Frag._

Tapping the communicator against her chin, she pushed off from her perch atop a bank of lockers, landing light-footed. She would have to notify Springer, book passage to the rendezvous coordinates, and end up embroiled in political coup to free her commanding officer.

All she wanted to do was shoot 'Cons. 

Well, Legion were technically not Decepticons, they were close enough in her optics. And Cybertronian striving to conquer were 'Cons, even if they did not openly run violet.

And yet, Bound Sword.

Elita had been arrested. A political move, unfortunate but not unforeseen. The last three Primes had been popular amongst Autobots as a whole, but their presence served as a threat to those who aimed to bring back a government based on previous models. If Moonracer was getting this message, it meant Chromia and Firestar were already en route to the rendezvous point. 

Picking up her pace, she stormed through the crew mess hall and into the officer's wing, running into Kup, who sported an even grumpier frown than normal.

"Which scraplet crawled up your exhaust port?" she demanded.

Kup sneered, moving the cygar to the opposite corner of his mouth. "You, for starters. This ain't a game, and your cock-sure attitude isn't helping matters. If you had any clue what was happening back home — "

"Bound Sword." 

The cygar balanced precariously on Kup's jutting lip. "Oh, for frag's sake."

"Just got the message," Moonracer continued. "What do you know about it?"

"Question is," the elder Autobot loomed closer, "how do you know about it? Why would you be involved?"

Moonracer held back her initial retort and settled with, "I need to speak with Springer."

"You can speak with me — "

"No, I can't. If Bound Sword is in play, we're all in danger." Keeping her voice down, she added, "We're losing time, Kup. And let's hope Jazz is still within short-range communications to provide backup."

 

*

 _Little Revenge_  
Vicinity of Gamma Orionus (Bellatrix), 130 light years from Betelgeuse

 

**—// INCOMING MESSAGE**  
**—// FROM: Bluestreak (nottheBeeS@vindication.λscorpii.ori.sagittari)**  
**—// TO: Skyfire (skyfire@rhkygah-lhar.αcanismajorisβ.ori.sagittari)**  
**—// CC: 45 other recipients**  
**—// SUBJECT: Fabulous Secret Powers**

 

"'Fabulous Secret Powers'?" Skyfire read aloud from his datapad, brow cocked.

"Don't open it," Cavalier warned, nodding towards Artemis. The blue and black mech was reclining in the copilot's chair, head bowed and optics offline. "It's a silly video. Funny as all frag, but could be considered annoying. Let boss lady rest, yeah?"

"Why would Bluestreak send me this?" Skyfire questioned.

"Because he's bored?" the Minibot shrugged. "I dunno, I do weird slag when I'm bored. So! Next coordinates!"

"This is important, Cavalier," Skyfire stressed, setting down his datapad. "I need to know you understand the concept behind the formulae."

"Punch the numbers in the nav board and we're good to go. What's the problem?"

"Because there's factors involved that may have to be deciphered on the fly. For example, plugging in purely mathematical coordinates could land us in the centre of a black hole. Case in point, had we been a half-sol later in arriving in the Betelgeuse system, we would have folded within the event horizon, thus scuttling the mission, the Matrix, and us with it. While we have our nine points of reference, we also need to take in consideration of — please, Cavalier, I know you're impatient to find Rodimus, but if something should happen to me, I need to know someone can carry on in my stead."

"Dude, you're not going anywhere," Cavalier countered. "You wouldn't leave Art alone with that gashole."

"You're right, I wouldn't."

Silence settled, broken by a nonsensical mutter from the recharging blue and black mech.

Cavalier, wide-opticked, shook her head. "Dude, you wouldn't do that to her. She needs you here." Dropping her volume, she hissed, "you and I both know her headspace's getting noisier. Springer doesn't realise what he's done by naming us wardens for the gashole. She needs all the stability she can get, and try as they might, she ain't gonna get that from Creep or Sandy."  
"If the situation becomes volatile," Skyfire stressed, "I will take responsibility for Starscream. Which is why I need you to understand these formulae and how they function. I need to know the mission can carry on without me."

The white and black Minibot studied the giant's face, his soft, reassuring smile. "Dude, I'm a hacker. Most the slag I know I learnt on the fly, trial and error, no formal training. What you may see as a formula, I see as a line of code. I don't think I'm qualified — "

"That's all a formula is: a line of code." Skyfire's mouth drew a hard line. "Please, listen to me. We're here because of loyalty to the Autobots. But where your focus is to help find Rodimus, mine is to protect my friend. And if by protecting her means I take that twisted monstrosity of a mech and put as much distance as I can to keep her from self-destructing, I will do that in a spark pulse." He vented. "I'm sorry, Cavalier, but Rodimus as an individual is low on my priorities."

Cavalier's faceplate moved, forming words but not vocalising them, before she bowed her head, her hands fists on her knees. "But the Matrix — "

Skyfire knelt before the Minibot. With a cool tone, he explained, "I am a mech of science, first and foremost. What you and Elita and everyone else sees as an ordained mission by a holy relic, I see a parasitic artifact eating away at my friend's sanity. Adding Starscream to the equation will only make matters worse for her, for us. So tell me, Cavalier, are you willing to take responsibility in the event that I have to do what I must to protect my Prime?"

"Rodimus is your Prime," she choked back her anger.

"Can you prove that?"

Her optics narrowed, and she averted her gaze to glare at the console. "Fine," she growled. "Tell me your stupid formulas."

"Cavalier, I'm sorry, but you need to know where I stand."

"Just tell me how to find him," she snapped.

 

*

Translucentica Heights  
Northern Iacon, Cybertron  
Local Morning, 0450

_"Good morning, Iacon! This is Around Cybertron; I'm your host, Andromeda, with today's news. Traffic control reports a three megacycle delay on the Nominus Memorial Turnpike number #14, outbound to Rodion; Transit Authority is recommending commuters to take alternative transportation and plan accordingly. We will report further details once they are made available. More after local weather with Zephyr."_

Trailbreaker groaned, groping for remote to hit snooze. _Oh, yeah, I moved that to the shelf. Next to the vidscreen. So that I would have to actually get up to hit the snooze. Started to do that three stels ago. So that I could get to work on time. Yeah._

_"Thank you, Romy! Iacon and surrounding suburbs will be enjoying sunny, clear skies with a breeze off the Harbour at two to four knots, high twenty-four degrees with a forty-two percent humidity in surrounding boroughs; expect temperatures to reach twenty-eight inland. But don't let that calm exterior fool you; expect electromagnetic disruptions as the planet passes through Shaula-Aleph and Shaula-Beth's perihelion. This will make air travel turbulent, the worst between ten- and fourteen-hundred."_

"Blah, blah, blah," he grumbled, rolling onto his side as he onlined his optics, then clapped a hand over them as he cursed the assault of the light streaming from the windows. Which only further confused him. His studio — barely constituted as a hab suite — had a grand total of two windows, both in the common room, both with tarps nailed over them to prevent just this pain from occurring. And his berth was as far from these windows as possible, meaning — 

_— oh, Primus, where am I?_

"Seafaring commuters and shipping carriers should also take note that Shaula-Gimel will be traversing within the perihelion, causing stronger than normal tides and waves between six to ten metres in height. Nautical advisory is in affect until sixteen-hundred tonight. Back to you, Romy."

_"It seems the safe bet is mass transit today! And speaking of our system-wide alignment, we now turn to our investigative corespondent, reporting live from the Covenant of Primus in Government Centre, Rook. It seems there's more going on than just the Festival of the Guiding Hand down there, Rook — can you fill us in?"_

_"Absolutely, Romy. In what is reported to be a shocking turn of events amid the faithful, Emirate Xaaron has been removed from his position by the High Council."_

"Well, that was quick." Mirage stated from across the room.

Pulling his hand away from his face, Trailbreaker snapped his attention to the blue and white speedster before issuing another curse from the too-quick motion. Mirage's? Okay, passed out somewhere friendly, at least. 

_"The official statement issued by the Stratocracy is that there had been a conflict of interest regarding the former emirate's service on the Ethics Committee — "_

Mirage tapped his guest's shoulder, handing Trailbreaker a large glass of high-grade. Ten clicks passed before the larger mech registered the offer, and took the glass with a nod of thanks.

_" — and holding the position of Cybertron's top religious leader. In a response issued by Xaaron, quote: 'I have discussed the matters at length with the Council and the Senate, and while my devotion to Primus, with his Tenants and his teachings, continues to drive my spark to do His work, my energies will be focused in keeping His children from unnecessary harm. Thus, I have agreed to step down from my leadership position with the Covenant to focus full-time on my duties with the Ethics Committee.' End quote. While Xaaron has not been available for comment, we did meet with festival-goers to ask what their opinions were on the matter."_

"What is their long game?" Mirage whispered, taking a seat next to his friend. 

"You haven't found out yet?" Trailbreaker questioned.

The scout shook his head. "They tightened security overnight, likely after your rather convincing shambling out. Pressure plates, EMF scanners, heat sensors — the Citadel's all but locked down."

"Any word from Jazz and company?"

Mirage shook his head. "Not yet. They might be laying low until they arrive at Kimia."

"So is that where the Senate's shuttling all of us now?"

"Easier to blow us up and strike it up to enemy fire?"

"That's...not exactly comforting, Mirage."

"I jest. Kimia's a well maintained defence station. And while I think the Senate's intentions are to get us out of sight, out of mind of the general public, they also understand that without us, they're fragged."

He had meant it to be comforting; instead, Trailbreaker drained the glass, set it on the nightstand, and leaned forward, clasping his hands together as though in prayer.

_"More as the story develops. We will return after a word from our sponsors, and station identification."_

"Elita's ousting must be still top secret," Mirage observed, standing. "That would have gotten top billing otherwise."

"Yeah, only'll be a matter of time...." Trailbreaker worried his bottom lip. "I'm trying to see the bright side of this, 'Raj, but all I keep seeing is...."

"Clampdown. Yeah, I know." Mirage took his friend's hand with both of his. "It won't get that bad, trust me."

Easy for you to say; you joined us by choice. You were protected. It was difficult to keep the bitter thought down, but he refrained from voicing it. Instead, "I hope you're right."

A perky, high-tenor voice chirped from the radio: _"'Smile! Today is a good day, and tomorrow will be even better!' These words of encouragement are brought to you by the your friends at — "_ The transmission cut off with a small pop. 

Mirage regarded the radio, brow arched quizzically. "That's odd," he muttered, but the follow-up — What do you suppose caused that? — dissolved upon laying optics on Trailbreaker's horrified expression.

"We gotta get off planet, 'Raj," he hissed. "We gotta go now."

 **NEXT CHAPTER:** Unforgiven Time


End file.
